Reflections on the Page
by Aurorarose
Summary: A journal entry from Xander's POV based on a real life experience.


Reflections on the Page ****

Reflections on the Page

By: Aurorarose13

August 27, 2006

Today was nowhere near as exciting as yesterday. I woke up only to find my bed empty again; Serena had left late last night sometime I suppose. I detest that. You know, you bring someone home to share an intimate experience with you, and they brush it off like it means nothing to them. But then again, I'm not one to talk, am I? Hell, the past two years of my life have been nothing but a joke, and a long running one at that. I'm not afraid to say it anymore: I hate being alone! Every night when the darkness encroaches upon me, here, in LA, where the sun never truly sets, I shiver even in the stifling heat. It's cold here… without Anya, without Wills, without… But I digress. 

Anyway, after I dragged my sorry ass out of bed for a cold breakfast, I trudged to work. I sat behind that computer monitor for God knows how many hours, staring blankly at a screen with numbers that supposedly mean something. In the grand scheme of the world though, what are they but numbers. At lunch break, I took a walk down to Vigo's Diner again. That place just keeps growing on me, day by worthless day. Met a buxom young woman named Charlene there, too. We exchanged digits, and I guess I'm in for another "potentially romantic encounter" with a vacant bed the next morning. It's a vicious cycle I tell you! 

Right after quitting time, I headed over to Angel's, as per usual, and met up with the gang. Still, no matter how much time goes by (whether it's the reality of the eight months or the feel of eight eons), the hotel seems lonely without Wes around. We try to talk about casework, about clients, about anything, but that pocket of air that should be occupied remains open space, and all eyes keep drifting over to it. Angel, of all of us, tries to hide those glances the most, but Cordy calls it on him every single time. And here she does it, too! Here I go again, getting teary-eyed over the past. You try to forget, and what does that get you but a crapload more heartache. So… We discussed our ongoing problem of the Jerkwater Brothers, as we've come to refer to them as, when Cordy got another vision. We came, we saw, we rescued. Oh, and we didn't get paid. Forgot to mention that.

The only redeeming part of the whole damn day came late at night—say, around ten-ish—as I was walking on home. I passed the usual tenant buildings, kicked a few beer cans and chased away a few pesky whores before I had sight of my apartment. And as I was about to cross the street to get there, someone comes racing wildly around the corner, flying smack into my side. We tumbled to the ground, and I escaped death by about two inches. The stake came whizzing past my shoulder as I rolled onto my side to get a better view of my attacker. 

And there she was in all her golden-haired glory: my Slayer. Buffy shot up from the sidewalk, whirled around and immediately staked her pursuing vamp. Then her attentions turned to me, as did about thirty other onlookers'. Our eyes connected and then our bodies. She screamed my name, squeezed my neck and kissed my ear. The grains in the hourglass ticked by slowly as we embraced, and although I can't quite know for sure how badly I've fallen for her again, there is nothing in this world that could have prepared me for the way that hug felt. To know that Buff was so glad to see me, and yet we have spent half of our lives (and time here in the city) together, stunned me—no, knocked the wind out of me, literally. Can you even comprehend what it is like to know that, for a minimal amount of time, for those worthless and yet priceless couple specks of sand in that narrow channel, you are center of one person's universe? Even with dozens of other people around us, I was the center of Buffy's universe, the axis upon which her whole world rotates. It was I! Her eyes were on me. Her arms were around me. Her lips were on me. And I was not hallucinating, dreaming, hoping. No, I was there; I know what happened. For whatever those four seconds were worth, I was the Slayer's everything. Not one of the Angels or Rileys or Richards or Philips can change that solid fact. There was no one else but me. 

So, I guess I can retire easily enough to bed tonight. At least I've got one happy thought to cling to, right? That, and Buff and I are meeting for a quick lunch tomorrow. 

Tah, 

X


End file.
